


Feel

by adarksweetness (chayaasi)



Series: Cap-IM TRB 2017 [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 17:13:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chayaasi/pseuds/adarksweetness
Summary: “Mr. Stark is on the tenth floor,” JARVIS says.The terse reply makes Steve more anxious, because he’s never had to draggoodnews out of Tony’s AI.





	Feel

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cap IM Tiny RB Round 6: Commander](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713596) by [Shaliara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaliara/pseuds/Shaliara). 



> Written for Cap-IM TRB 2017 and STONY Bingo square "Major Injuries".

Nobody expects the explosion when they hear it.

Steve bolts out of the hovering Quinjet, barely noticing the 15 foot drop, and his heart nearly stops when he sees the smoking crater blown in one of the higher floors of the building before him. It’s an office space still under construction and in any case, civilians have been cleared out of it hours ago, however…

“Iron Man, report!” Steve barks into the comms, running for the entrance without a thought for its stability. When there’s not answer, he tries again, “Tony! Where are you?”

For a hopeful moment, his comm crackles to life. Instead of Tony quick and assuring voice, it’s JARVIS who answers. “Two agents of SHIELD are located on the eighth floor and two more on the ninth floor, Captain. I have already asked for emergency evacuation.”

“Acknowledged,” Sam says grimly over the comms. Steve spots the reassuring glint of Falcon’s wings under the sunset as he enters the building from air and continues to sprint up the stairs, heart pounding.

“Tony?” he asks breathlessly.

“Mr. Stark is on the tenth floor,” JARVIS says. The terse reply makes Steve more anxious, because he’s never had to drag good news out of Tony’s AI.

“Relay status,” he commands. “The armor, injuries, anything I need to know.”

“Multiple major safety hazards on this floor,” JARVIS says. “Injuries are extensive and significant. Please hurry, Captain.”

-

Twelve hours ago, they’d been in bed. Twelve hours ago, Tony’s head was in his lap, and Steve was admiring how the dappled light streamed in through the window and stained his lover’s skin in bright little patches. Tony was expounding on the merits of breakfast in bed, mainly how he found it benefitted his health to just lie back on his supersoldier boyfriend while Steve fed him fruit and brioche toast.

“Sounds a bit like I’m doing all the work,” Steve had said.

Tony tutted casually. “Not for no reward, my sweet,” he said and flung his arm out to scratch lightly at Steve’s cheek. To the naked eye, he was the picture of indolence, but they’d been together long enough for Steve to know this was as overt as Tony was going to get to asking for affection.

Steve had just been about to kiss his hand when JARVIS interrupted, “Sir, there’s a matter of concern on the news.”

Their phones and identicards had gone off at the same time, which meant serious trouble, so while Steve reached for his tablet, Tony was already watching the video feed.

The national news had been hacked and some Mandarin copycat wannabe was informing everyone from coast to coast that he’d rigged several New York city high rises to blow for every hour his demands weren’t met–his demands being the delivery of Tony Stark and the Iron Man.

Oh, like hell.

To say the following hours were tense was an understatement. Since the message was broadcast, Steve had everything thrown at him, from sharp words to actual garbage because some people saw his refusal to negotiate with a terrorist as reckless favoritism. They were wrong, however; Steve certainly acknowledged his bias for Tony, but giving up a teammate or any caliber of Starktech to a madman was certainly out of the question.

Not to mention, the nation was better off with Tony overseeing operations than playing a bargaining chip. Indeed, while the rest of the team handled groundwork and evac, Tony and a handpicked contingent of SHIELD agents had located and disabled all of the explosives over the longest twelve hours anyone cared to remember. 

After Iron Man and his little helpers finished their final sweep of the office building in Midtown, Steve had decided, he was going to haul his boyfriend home and right back into bed. 

-

“Recheck for more active IEDs!” Steve shouts over the comms. He can hear SHIELD copters and the whine of the Quinjet as Natasha pilots it back around, but what’s the point of backup when the worst already happened?

The higher he climbs, the more hazardous things get. Steve holds his shield up over his head and the sound of pelting concrete and metal becomes a grim soundtrack. He is greeted by piles of rubble and the smell of hot steel when he enters the tenth floor. Wretchedly, he notices how the explosion’s torn the builders’ progress apart– unfixed concrete lies in huge chunks, spiked through with twisted rebar. The steel rods jut out like teeth behind a thick curtain of gray dust.

Steve homes in on a smear of red behind the gritty haze. The distinct shape of Tony’s armor is hard to miss, yet disquiet paws at tentative relief, then stifles it completely upon getting up close.

Steve skids to a halt in front of Iron Man, mouth dry. Tony doesn’t have his helmet on and there are large gaps in the suit, like each piece has been arrested mid-undress. Between these gaps, Tony’s undersuit is dark, but there’s enough light to catch on the blood pouring out of his shoulder and pinpoint exactly where he ended up impaled on the steel bar.

Steve can’t help it, he’s a tactician. His eyes observe, his brain catalogs it all with indelible precision; Iron Man is impaled in three places: right shoulder, right gauntlet (there’s no evidence the flesh is wounded), and the left side of his abdomen. Steve doesn’t even have the time to think about all that can go wrong before the medics arrive. He just drops the shield and tries to say Tony’s name.

Steve thinks it might not have been loud enough after forcing its way through the lump in his throat, but Tony stirs. His expression is pinched in pain and his eyes are wet with tear tracks clearing a path down his right cheek, but he recognizes Steve.

“The agents…?”

“They’ll be fine,” Steve replies crisply. “Sam has them.”

Tony seems to relax at that, very minutely. Agonizingly enough, Steve notes how careful he is not to lean on the very rods lancing through his flesh. He works quickly and carefully to clear bits of rubble from the cracks in the suit.

“Should have known something was up,” Tony says. “He’s too smart…to just keep a fuckin’ list of bombs on his hard drive.”

“We’re dealing with that,” Steve replies. “You just worry about this. You stay with me, Stark.”

His hands shake when he approaches the ARC reactor. The clear, cyan glow ignites a surge of protective anger in his chest, the likes of which Steve has felt only a handful of times in his life. He can deal with general villainy all day, but for someone to have the audacity to reach for his family–

Steve savagely bends rebar out of the way, pretends they’re bones.

Tony sighs, flecks of blood on his breath. “I must be a sight, huh?” he slurs. “Very…St. Sebastian.”

Steve must look exactly as pained as he feels because Tony immediately winces. “S’ry, that was offensive.”

Steve hardly cares. “I’ll be more offended if you don’t save your strength,” he says. “Please, Tony, I need you to stay with me. Help’s on the way.”

An ETA is relayed to his comm. It’s quick, but not quick enough for Steve’s taste. It would never be quick enough, and Steve wishes it were him in Tony’s place. He’s survived worse, but Tony is much too human under the armor.

Steve examines the red and gold sheath, identifying what might be dead weight. He asks JARVIS if some extra paneling is safe to take off, so Tony might feel a little lighter…

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” Tony rasps. Instead, he lifts the arm that’s not impaled at the shoulder. “This.”

Steve undoes the manual catch immediately and the glove barely falls away before Tony beckons him close enough to touch his face. Steve holds the bloody, unseasonably warm palm to his cheek. He barely has to turn his head to press little kisses on Tony’s wrist. It’s supposed to be reassuring, a solid reminder of his presence by his lover, but somehow, it feels a lot like he’s trying to comfort himself.

“You’re warm,” Tony comments. When Steve just replies with a sniffle, he says, “This is–mnh–actually unlikely to kill me. Y’know.”

Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response. He meets Tony’s eyes, kisses his palm one more time and informs him, “ETA 1 minute. We’ll get you out of here, then I’m going after this bastard myself.”

Tony grins, or rather, he does a grotesque impression of one. “Love it when you go full Cap, babe, but real quick…”

“What is it? What can I do, Tony?”

Tony jaw clenches briefly under another wave of pain. “Don’ mean t’be cheesy,” he says, each word strained. “But, mmm, kiss me?”

Steve obeys without a thought. He gingerly steps over the concrete and carefully leans over until their lips touch. Unsurprisingly, Tony is not as eager as usual, but he doesn’t stand for a chaste peck either. He makes small, needy noises until Steve brings both hands up to cup Tony’s jaw and dips his tongue into his mouth.

Tony tastes bloody, yet he gives no indication to stop. Steve only pulls away when something starts beeping and JARVIS says, “Sir, I must insist–”

“Ok ok!” Tony groans, features openly wrecked with agony. “You win, push anesthetic. Fuck…”

Steve steps back and watches in disbelief as a small needle emerges from Tony’s open gauntlet and docks in his vein. Seconds later, Tony’s eyes flutter open again. This time, they’re just a little cloudy, a little absent.

“You had that all this time and didn’t use it?” he asks sharply.

Tony shakes his head. “Don’ be mad.”

“I’m not mad!” Steve counters, fully aware that he isn’t helping his case. “I’m just–you could have used the morphine five minutes ago!”

Tony blinks at that, comically slow, like Steve’s behavior is irrational. “Then, I wouldn’t have…” he tries to raise his arm again and fails. “…wouldn’t’ve felt you.”

Steve feels the wind go right out of him. The sounds of the medical team arriving just then feels distant; he can hear them pick their way through the rubble while stands there, stunned and strangely humbled. They swarm around Tony’s slumped body, and unlike Steve, they’re efficient and knowledgeable and somehow, they’re pretty sure that everything’s going to be ok. Inevitably, someone yells at him to get out of the way.

“Come on, Cap,” Natasha tugs on his arm and Steve allows himself to be led out of the wreckage. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he goes to wipe blood off his face, but there’s no red.


End file.
